


Things left unsaid

by royalydamned



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hallucinations, Lost Love, POV Sandor Clegane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 12:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalydamned/pseuds/royalydamned
Summary: After your tragic death Sandor Clegane is regretting things he didn't have a chance to say.





	Things left unsaid

Fire has always been connected to the worse things in his life. The hot flames turning everything they touched to ashes, the unbearable heat when he was near. It wasn't calming. The only thing he saw was pain, destruction, loss.

Watching your ice cold body slowly dissappearing in the flames, knowing it was just a shell of your being didn't make him scared for once. He was as angry as he could. Like his own fire was burning inside him with rage and guilt, making him numb to any other feeling, blind to anything else then your body slowly turning into nothing.

He couldn't see you anymore through the light. It still felt like a dream. Like a nightmare which was hunting him since he first laid his eyes on your beautiful smile. He dreamed of not seeing the life in your eyes anymore. Not hearing your voice say his name, while you were peacefully sitting next to each other away from preying eyes or sharp tongues of people passing by you.

'I'm sorry Clegane. I wish there was something we could have done.' 

Sorry. He had never been more annoyed by this man. He didn't need anyone's sympathy. He wanted to be alone, get drunk and pretend you were still waiting somewhere. Anywhere. If you didn't mean that much to him he wouldn't even bother himself coming here, to see the last proof of your life being destroyed.

'What kind of fucker is that God of yours to let an innocent woman die in such a way' Sandor growled in response. 'Why does an ugly cunt like you deserve to come back, but she does not.'

Unable to stand there any longer he headed to the closest tavern and sat into the darkest corner there was. For the first time in his life he didn't mind the annoying chatter or laughter of the drunk people. He couldn't really hear them. 

Everything was so distant suddenly. It felt like it wasn't real, he felt like he was asleep somewhere on the ground where you will soon find him and wake him up. That he will see your face again looking at him with warm smile as he will slowly open his eyes.

Hell he wished. He wished he was just imagining this. He couldn't bear the thought of not having you around anymore. He never understood how you could ever talk to such an ugly old dog like him. How could you ever touch him without the slightest hint of disgust in your beautiful face, talk to him without fear in your gentle eyes or say I love you with a loving smile playing on your lips.

He didn't believe you. He was a stupid bastard for answering in such a way. 'You don't know what you're saying Dove.' Who would have said that one sentence would be his biggest regret. Who would have said he will never have a chance to properly respond anymore.

He just needed to get away from everyone. He needed a quiet place where he could spend this horrible night, without any annoying fuckers offering their 'deepest regrets'.

The mead burned in his throat, not relieving his pain or anger, only making it worse. He already felt lighter in the head, not being able to control his emotions like he did when he was sober he already felt grief and anger written all over his face. He felt weak and angrier every passing second.

Fake cunts. He thought and growled dangerously at a woman making her way towards him, when his knees gave away under his weight and alcohol he drank. He didn't need anyone's help.

With gawky walk he made his way out of the taver, throwing a few coins at a wench who brought him his mead while he was leaving.

Sitting under the tree you used to talk under every night, he took out his own flask still half full with ale and took another big sip and closed his eyes finally alone. 

Suddenly everything felt real. He saw you in his arms as life left your body. He could feel your gentle hand on his shoulder as you were trying to reassure him, calm him. Your empty eyes staring at him as your body grew cold and stiff. Taking everything in, he believed. He finally believed and it felt even worse.

He gulped and opened his eyes, focusing them on a figure in front of him. There you stood. In a beautiful white dornish gown like you couldn't feel the cold, you smiled at him softly.  
'Seven hells woman, I'm not drunk enough to be seeing such a things' he mumbled under his breath not believing what he was just seeing. 'Standing there in that pretty dress and bare feet while my fucking balls are freezing off.' You laughed slightly kneeling in front of him into the snow and put your hand on his leg. 'I'm sorry' he whispered after a moment of silence between you two. 'You didn't deserve this.'

'That is on the gods to decide' you answered. A slight wind blew a few locks of your hair into your face, covering it. He knew he will never be able to see it again. He wanted to look at you while he had the chance. As gently as he could he brushed the hair out of your face with his rough hands making you chuckle softly. 'And some still think of you as a monster.'

'Some?' he laughed dryly awkwardly putting his hand to his side. There was a long silence between you. He just stared at your face trying to remember every small detail, your every inch, every color in your eyes, everything he never wanted to forget. He couldn't imagine not being able to remember the features of your face, the light in your eyes everytime you laughed or saw something that made your day, the frown you formed your brows into when you were focused on work you were doing at the moment.

'Don't be the beast the lords shaped you into Sandor' you whispered cupping his cheek with your hand. He hated how real it felt. He hated how he felt your gentle touch on his skin, how he still felt your warmth and scent. He hated how much he loved it. 'You did regrettable things, but it's never too late to start doing the right ones. I know you have a kind heart, don't let your scars define you.'

'I-' he began but the words got stuck in his throat. Looking into your eyes, realizing everything he lost with you, he couldn't speak. 'I'm sorry' he said at least, his voice hoarse and quiet.

'You already said that.'

'No.' He shook his head and took swing from his flask to get some courage. He knew how much he was going to regret not telling you when you were alive. He needed to tell you now at least. 'I'm sorry for what I said. The truth is I-' groaning he punched the ground. 'Fucking hells woman I love you' he blurted looking straight into your eyes. He had never felt so weak, desperate, pathetic. He couldn't tell the truth to the real you, and now he almost couldn't tell the truth to a ghost.

Your face didn't change. You were still looking at him, soft smile playing on your lips like your forgave him everything he had done, everything he had regretted, everything he had fucked up. You were too good to be gone. The world seemed worse without you in it.

'I know' you whispered leaning closer to him. His eyes closed wanting, needing to feel you with him for the last time. But he couldn't smell you scent, nor feel the heat from your body just soft wind blowing across his face like the gentlest touch of your hand.

When he opened his eyes he didn't see your face near his. He didn't see you anywhere and he knew that was a goodbye. You were gone and never coming back.

With an angry growl, loud enough for others to be mistaken by an animal wounded by a hunter he threw his flask away, so far he couldn't see where it landed in the dark.

Looking at the night sky, he felt something missing in his chest. It was the heart he gave you knowing you will never bring it back, for you took it with you to your grave.


End file.
